


Free Samples

by paulmcfartney



Category: McLennon - Fandom, The Beatles
Genre: Beatles Slash, M/M, McLennon, and it drives paul to hell and back, ice cream au, john is being suggestive as per usual, teddy boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 08:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13337826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paulmcfartney/pseuds/paulmcfartney
Summary: paul works at an ice cream parlor, and john is, well, john.





	Free Samples

**Author's Note:**

> i didn't feel like adding in everything that's italicized or bolded yet but ya girl will get there eventually

"Could I have a free sample of the Pistachio, please?"

"No."

"Oh come on then, why not?"

" 'Cos then you'll just ask for a free sample of the Cookie Dough, and then one of the Strawberry, which would probably be followed by one of the Chocolate Crunch. If you want somethin', you actually have to pay for it, John."

Paul stood with his chin cradled in his hand on top of the counter. It wasn't that he was irritated, although he probably should have been, given that he was covered almost head to toe with caramel and sticky smears of Butter Pecan ice cream. Maybe if it were someone other than John, he would eventually get angry. He was different though, so incredibly different from all the others that he was actually on the verge of giving him all of the free samples he asked for without question.

He looked puzzled, like he was trying to come up with some witty retort before the moment became awkward. John pulled through, unsurprisingly, and shot back a short huff. "Oh, well, whatever makes the prince happy, I suppose." he droned, and handed Paul a bill over the counter. John squinted as he tried to look at the menu above, but soon gave up, and dug his very top secret glasses out from his pocket to slide onto his arched nose. "I'll have a cone of the Mint," he decided with a nod. The glasses were soon shoved back into his pocket, much to Paul's dismay, before he could even start to scoop the ice cream out of the container.

Paul handed John the cone with a soft smile, somehow no longer afraid to be as direct as he pleased. "You should wear them more often," Paul blurted out in a quiet, yet slightly urgent tone. It seemed to have taken the ruffled boy before him by surprise, and he gave Paul this sort of look that make him feel like he was being studied under a microscope. He wasn't uneasy, surprisingly enough, but waited for John's approval while the boy's narrow eyes scanned him from head to toe.

With a bushy eyebrow cocked high and a sniff of his nose, he replied, "Maybe I will."

And so he did.

Two days later, John was back in the ice cream parlor with a select group of his rowdy mates. John, meh, he never really caused any real problems. But these complete imbeciles that followed him around nearly day by day never failed to make Paul think he was on the verge of his psychological breaking point. I mean, was it really that hard for them to throw away their own trash? At least push in the goddamn seats after you stand up.

The thing Paul hated the most about the other teds was that they always seemed to bring out a different side of John when they were together. It was odd seeing him act so incredibly different around them than he did when it was just him and Paul. It was like he'd suddenly constructed a stone wall around him, which was hard to even graze unless you offered some type of alcohol or "favor." In other words, talking to him like Paul usually would on a slow, drowsing night was the complete and utter opposite of what he had to face now.

However, something about this visit was different. It had only taken John Lennon two days to realize how incredibly hot he looked in those thick rimmed glasses he so despised. More importantly, he'd actually taken Paul's opinion into consideration, meaning, he valued his opinion.

The sheer thought of it left the younger boy shaken as John shuffled up to the counter to an overly-exhausted Paul, who was slumped over yet again against his palm. Play it cool, don't act like you're about to have a bloody conniption just because of his presence.

"I'll take one Mint cone, two Butterscotch sundaes, and a Cherry soda, please," the older boy drawled, not daring to even look up as he counted a stack of bills he held in his hand. How courteous.

"No free samples today?" Paul questioned, taking the bills from him and running them through the cash register. He was shaking like a leaf, and prayed to whatever was up in the sky that John wouldn't notice. Fumbling with the coins, he just managed to make a glance upwards to take in the sight before him before he thought he might die without it. John was gazing down at him, hands shoved deep in his pockets, those glasses perched high upon his nose.

John let out a chuckle and continued to watch Paul work. "Not today, son. I've been trying to, ahem, slim down my figure a bit." The boy behind him snickered, his bleach blonde hair bouncing above his forehead.

Paul made an effort to roll his eyes in annoyance and handed John back his change. "Jus' try not to fuck the place up, yeah?" the younger boy affirmed, earning a prompt salute from John and several amused grins from the number of boys trailing behind him.

As the boy began to work with the scoops, John's proclaimed "posse" plopped down in their seats one by one, leaving their leader hovering over the displays opposite of Paul. "What time are you open 'til?" John spoke abruptly, not even daring to make eye contact with the flustered boy through the thick glass window of the freezer. Except, to say that Paul was flustered was a massive fucking understatement. When his mind finally registered the question, which took a few awkward seconds, Paul's knees nearly gave out from under his body. He only wants to know the bloody closing time, Paul. Don't be a nit for once. Paul was cool. Everything was cool.

John cleared his throat as Paul went through what he would later describe as a 'near death experience,' and finally got his attention. "You uh, sorry- What?" Paul responded, actually breathless from this whole mess. John raised a bushy eyebrow from behind the thick frame of his glasses. "When do you close for the night?" John knew what he was doing, and Paul could only tell from the sly grin plastered across those perfect fucking lips. Paul gulped and continued working. "Eleven. Sharp."

John hummed, obviously thinking of a response, or maybe coming up with some devious plan to break into the parlor and knick all of the free samples he could possibly want. His face as he thought was adorable in Paul's eyes. It was the way his brow almost furrowed together completely, accompanied by those oh-so-important miniscule wrinkles above the bridge of his nose, that had reeled Paul in so easily. "Mhm. I'll keep that in mind," John drawled with a wink in Paul's direction.

Paul was entirely sure that if he kept up his antics any longer tonight, he'd absolutely positively implode in on himself out of the sheer adoration he had for his customer. Thankfully, he handed the older boy his order over the counter, trying desperately to ignore the way their fingers brushed ever so slightly. John stood unmoving for a minute, and that adorable thinking face of his reappeared. When he leaned over the counter towards the younger boy, Paul could absolutely swear that there were millions of alarms going off in his head. John's thin lips found the shell of Paul's ear and grazed it gently, making him shiver in response.

And the sentence that fell from his lips was so utterly unexpected that Paul was entirely sure that he'd gone down and died on the spot.

"Mm, what I'd give to have a lick of you, son."

Paul was completely one-hundred percent certain that he'd died and gone to heaven, while John was some kind of ethereal angel with the mouth of a sweet-talking demon.

He walked away from the counter, the smug grin having returned at some point, leaving Paul shuddering wildly as he gripped the wood with white knuckles. It felt as if he'd suddenly gone deaf or something odd like that. There goes a night's sleep.

The following day was odd, at least for Paul. He'd often find himself glancing towards the door in case John would suddenly show up. It was like he was being driven completely mad by one little sentence. 'Mm, what I'd give to have a lick of you, son.' What does that even mean?

It was 10:55 at night, and Paul was beginning to doubt everything. He'd obviously just said that to mess with him, right? John had definitely noticed how flustered Paul had been the previous day, so the clear option would have been to play with his thoughts, which John was seemingly very good at.

Paul was bent over the counter with his forehead against the wooden countertop and his arms folded to frame his hair. He was exhausted, though it wasn't a busy day at all. The thoughts were the most exhausting, and drained his energy from the minute he'd rolled out of bed that morning. At this point, getting over it seemed to be the better option. That is, until the bell hanging above the door chimed, alerting Paul that someone was entering the otherwise empty parlor.

His head perked up from his palm only to meet a set of eyes behind a pair of thick lenses. God.

John squinted his eyes as he perused the menu, not seeming to notice the way Paul's hands were balled into white fists on top of the counter. Paul got the chance to take in every little detail that he'd never noticed. That navy sweater he's wearing fits much too snug for his own good. Paul could feel his heartbeat speed up, and for once in his entire time working here, he felt impatient for the older boy to just talk to him.

" You 'ave any of the Strawberries and Cream left?" John asked smugly, a half-smile playing below his playful eyes. This asshole knows what he's doing.

"Y-Yeah, just enough, actually." Paul's voice cracks, and he absolutely prays that the older boy didn't notice. "Is that all?"

John glances at his thin watch locked around a dangly wrist, and returns his attention to Paul. "It's eleven, shop's closed. I'll buy you somethin' if it means you'll come out from behind that counter for once."

Paul was hyperventilating. Not literally, but it felt as if he'd just ran a marathon through the steep portion of town. And God, was it hot in here, or was it just Paul? He couldn't tell, though. He was too focused on trying to ignore the way that John was peering over the glass, just to catch a glimpse of Paul doing a really poor job at scooping his ice cream cone.

It took a minute, but as soon as Paul finished scrambling around to lock the door and flip the sign over to the 'Closed' side, he plopped down in a booth across from John, who, bless his heart, had waited for Paul to sit down until he started eating. Paul had made himself a caramel sundae, as John had told him to splurge a little bit and get whatever he wanted.

"You're beginning to make me think that you've never actually eaten your own parlor's ice cream," John spoke up suddenly, after a moment of silence when they had both dug into their desserts. Paul shrugged and looked down at the table. "I'd rather have fruit or something, but ice cream's alright every once in awhile." Fruit. Really? Out of all of the things I could've said, I say fruit?? God, what a real poofer you are, McCartney.

"What's your favorite fruit?" John quizzed, taking Paul a bit by surprise. He really wants to know what kind of fruit I like? Am I going mad, or is he really that interested in me?

"Bananas. They're good on cereal." John let out a slight chuckle. "I guess I could say that I find that quite apeeling." Paul slapped a hand to his face in response, and couldn't help but giggle. "Oh God, that was the worst," Paul uttered and tried to act disappointed.

Meanwhile, John was having a time on the opposite side of the booth, and seemed to be in the middle of the laughing fit of the fucking year. "Your face was fucking priceless, mate! Christ, for a second, I thought you were gonna lunge across the table and have a row with me right here!" It took John a minute to settle himself after wiping a few dramatic tears out from under his glasses.

And then it was silent again. Not that it was awkward or anything, but Paul felt a burning in his chest left over from the other night. Mm, what I'd give to have a lick of you, son. Was it all that sexual that Paul had made it out to be, or was he just overreacting?

The two made eye contact, briefly, and Paul looked away to hide the massive blush spread over his cheeks. He shoveled another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. John's eyes were so lovely, and the younger boy couldn't help but peek just a few more times.

"I've always been very forward, y'know, at least with certain things," John spoke lowly. "And I uh, I hope I'm not being too forward when I say that I'm so tempted to just kiss your stupid bloody face." The last few words of his sentence ran together in a slur of breath and blushes. However, Paul got the message loud and clear, and tried so desperately to suppress the heat crawling across his cheeks once again.

John took a moment to gather himself, with that wide, irresistible grin remaining plastered on his face the entire time. His eyes were wide and jumping around the room, finally revealing his fluttering nerves. Paul could almost hear the boy's heartbeat pounding heavily in his ears. John's hair had somehow fallen out of place, probably because of the nervous hand continuously running from his forehead back, and a few hopelessly greased pieces fell over his glasses.

Paul didn't know what had come over him at the time; it was like something almost pushed him up and out of his side of the booth, only so he would fall next to the disheveled boy that was once across from him. And when he did the unthinkable, Paul knew in his heart that he was absolutely positively screwed.

Paul was shaking with anticipation as heir lips brushed hesitantly, both boys testing the waters to see where all of this would lead. He hadn't even noticed that he'd closed his eyes until he opened them, only to meet John's. Paul blinked and smiled against the graze of John's thin lips, snaking his arms around his neck and pulling him impossibly closer. Finally, Paul thought, as John closed the gap fully between them in an almost shockingly soft kiss. For a split second, Paul could swear that he'd heard John whimper, and only decided to press into him further.

Gentle fingertips stroked up and down Paul's waist, treating him as if he were some expensive piece of fine china. Even the warm tongue that had found its way into his mouth was careful not to scare Paul away, and worked against his with unexpected grace.

Paul's heart was racing with the thrill of kissing the boy he'd been silently running after for months on end, not to mention that said boy had his tongue nearly shoved down his throat at the moment. He could feel John tense up slightly at the feel of his hand drifting to his flushed cheek, his thumb stroking up and down and nudging his glasses in the process.

John pulled away suddenly, looking more dopey and overjoyed than Paul had ever seen him before. A cheesy grin was spread across his flushed cheeks, and his fingers found the hairs at the back of Paul's neck.

"You know," John whispered quietly, as if he were sharing a secret. "That was the single best free sample I've ever had. Care to give more?"

"Oh, fuck off."


End file.
